


Brothers

by ShaeraHaek



Series: Tears and Smiles [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Brotherly Love, Drunk Dwarves, F/M, Father issues, Forced Marriage, Frerin is a little shit, I don´t like OC´s, It was supposed to be a one-shot, M/M, Matchmaking, Overprotective Thorin, Pranking, annoyng OC, but it is not, dicking with the timeline, drunk Dwalin/Frerin, durins day, lots of feels, mentioned fem!Bilbo/Thorin, mentions of fem!Bilbo, only one for now, sooo much, thrór is basically hugh hefner, young Durins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:46:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShaeraHaek/pseuds/ShaeraHaek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about young Thorin, Frerin, Dwalin and Dís and their life in Erebor. Thrór loves to play a matchmaker for Thorin, who refuses to find a wife, Frerin doesn´t care about being a decent prince and Dwalin tries to hide his mountain-sized crush on Dís. </p><p>Beware brotherly love, awkward Dwalin and a furious Dís.  </p><p>-Mainly focussed on Frerin - because reasons.-<br/>WARNING: Thorin and Frerin are barely 100 years old, Mirkwood is not Mirkwood but Greenwood, daddy issues - because everyone has them, lots of feels, agressive and overprotective Thorin - nobody touches his baby brother and sister, Thrór is a troll and Thrain neglects his children.</p><p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mahal help us

**Author's Note:**

> READ THIS:  
> So this story was supposed to be a one-shot about Thorin and Frerin. Turned out to be a bit longer than I expected so I had to divide it. It´s my first fic for The Hobbit section so have mercy. Remeber, it´s an AU and I love to dick around with timelines. 
> 
> Also check out my dA profile for some Frerin pics - http://shaerahaek.deviantart.com/, feel free to pester me on tumblr - http://shaerahaek.tumblr.com/.
> 
> My many thanks go to my lovely Betas - erinacchilove and gone-off-adventuring (who can also be found on tumblr), who were incredibly supportive and made the story readable and I love them very much! 
> 
> I fucking suck at summaries...Also I had some dificulties uploading it... if anything is messed up please let me know.

Mahal Help Us

Holding his elegant black bow woven with silver vines Frerin took out an arrow and set it against the bowstring. His forearm slightly ached (he knew that there´s going to be a nasty bruise later) but he ignored the pain and focussed on the practice. Well, not really focussed – he wouldn´t have to worry about the bruises if he was really concentrated on what he was doing. Frerin kind of felt like a rookie. No that was not the word... _idiot_. Yeah that´s the word. 

 

Exhale, inhale, pull back, hold, aim, release. The arrow zoomed across the field and hit the target.

Bulls eye.

 

Holding the stance, Frerin held his eyes on the target. So many memories flashed through his mind. A person who didn’t know Frerin would say he was the happiest, sweetest and worriless dwarf ever.

 

However, it was not always so.

Not always was his face graced by a genuine smile and not always were his thoughts simple or mischievous.

One would think childhood of a son born into the royal family was immaculate and trouble-free. In Frerin´s case, it was the complete opposite.

 

It was not only the fact that he was leaner than majority of the dwarves, light-footed and agile.

 

As a dwarfling, he was always teased and picked on – even though he was a royal – his peers didn´t care much about rank. They always excluded him from their groups, mocking him for his looks. Saying he was weak  - he couldn’t even wield a proper axe.

 

He tried not to dwell on it. And most importantly, never let his perfect brother know about it. Even if he was frustrated and upset beyond sanity, he would never let it show in the presence of his beloved and brilliant elder brother. He would smile and joke and play the tough dwarf till the bitter end.

 

But even though he would cover his face with the mask of happiness, he couldn´t always hide his hurt.

And Thorin knew. He wasn’t blind. But he never said a word. He would beat the insufferable brats with a branch when Frerin wasn’t there for he cherished his brother above all gold and jewels of Erebor, but he wouldn’t betray his brother´s pride by showing him that he knew.

 

Even when he found his brother sitting in the emerald shadow of the tree near the top of the mountain, dully staring into distance he wouldn´t say a word. He would sit behind his baby brother, lay his head on his shoulder and wait patiently till he pulled himself together.

 

 But Frerin would never ask for Thorin´s help. He would always smile and say that everything was okay.

 

As the time flew, and the brothers grew older, another child was born to the royal family. The child was no other than their lovely sister Dís.

 

All three royal siblings sat together in Frerin´s secret hideout under the tree, talking and fooling around when a very essential thing happened –something that changed Frerin completely.

 

Dís was sitting on Thorin´s lap making a flower crown for her second eldest brother whilst listening to Frerin´s tales of dwarf-knights in mithril armour fighting dragons and saving princesses from forgotten strongholds. The middle sibling gambolled and laughed, imitating the knight proposing to the princess. He knelt down in front of the giggling Dís, laid his right hand upon his heart and offered the other to his sister saying: “Oh, beautiful and fairest princess in all Middle-earth! Would you take me as your faithful husband?”

“Of course I would, my dear brave knight!” Dís laughed as she placed the flower crown upon her brother´s raven-haired head. “But only under one condition!” She exclaimed hopping from Thorin´s lap.

“Oh? What does your loving heart desire, my princess?” Frerin thrilled happily.

“I will marry you, if you smile for me!” She kissed him on his cheek. Thorin stopped laughing and stilled, looking from his sister to his brother in slight worry.

“Smile for you? What are you talking about darling, I´m smiling right now.” Frerin said sweetly as he sat on the grass and hugged his little sister. He swept her off the ground and kissed her neck which made her squeal with laughter. She then placed her palms gently on his cheeks and looked into his sky-blue eyes.

“Your face is smiling, brother, but your eyes are sad.”

 

Frerin was definitely NOT expecting this to come out of his sister´s mouth. He was stunned into utter silence by this one short sentence. His smile fell instantly off and his shoulders slumped.

“I-...” He couldn´t get any words out. It knocked the breath out of his lungs.

 

Thorin was staring at his sister´s back in disbelief. It took him a fair amount of time to figure out about the bullying– he stalked after Frerin once and he overheard the insults one evening after his sword practice – and the only thing Dís had to do was to look into his eyes.

 

Thorin eyed Frerin with worry. The latter didn’t move an inch. He just sat there staring at their sister, pain, hurt and sadness flashing in his eyes.

 

“I want to see your real smile, khâzash.” Dís said softly and stroked Frerin´s cheek. It took him a moment to react. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. When he opened them again he set his eyes on Dís and smiled the most genuine smile he could manage.

“I will smile for you, my princess.”

 

He swore to her that he would never be sad, never mind the insults and never ever put the fake facade on ever again. And finally deal with those insufferable idiots who called him weak.

 

He decided to make profit of his lean build. He dreamt of being like the rangers of the north, clad in black cloaks that came to Erebor from time to time. He gave up on mastering heavy swords and axes and took up the bow and arrows. Frerin found out that he harboured a hidden talent for ranged weapons.

 

He worked harder and harder every day polishing his unique skills. His weapon of choice was a dagger, usually two. He could act quickly and strike deadly. On the top of that, no dwarf in the Lonely Mountain, nor anywhere else could compare himself with the young dwarf prince when it came to archery and throwing blades.

 

Deeming himself ready to face his oppressors, he challenged the leading bully to a match.

The young dwarf laughed loudly in his face and accepted.

 

All eyes were staring at the young prince with astonishment and disbelief as he stood proudly in the middle of the ring, the ruffian lying at his feet with a bloodied face, begging for mercy. The murmuring audience hushed as Frerin bore the dagger into the ground next to the pleading dwarf.

Frerin turned on his heels and marched out without a word. And no word was indeed needed.

 

The mocking looks changed to admiration. And since that day, nobody dared to underestimate the prince.

 

 

A big hand on Frerin´s shoulder jerked him out of the reminiscing.

“What are you doing laddie? You were standing here like a statue for good fifteen minutes.” Dwalin smiled and patted his back.

 

Ah, Dwalin.

 

Thorin´s loyal friend and brother in arms.

 

“Nothing.” Frerin answered. “Just practicing.” He shrugged, quickly dismissing any negative memories.

Dwalin was, however, not easily deceived. He knew about everything – Thorin often talked to him about his younger brother. Beating up insolent assholes was Dwalin´s favourite hobby in his childhood after all.

 

The guard scented the negative air about the lad and intervened.

“I see that you are not practicing hard enough! Come! Let´s have a few rounds, it´ll lift your spirits a bit!”

Before the younger could voice any protests, his shoulders were seized by Dwalin´s bear-like arms and he was dragged to the arena.

 

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea my liege?” Balin sighed heavily as he rubbed his throbbing forehead.

Thrór looked at the unhappy dwarf. “Of course! I really don´t see a problem, ” he said decisively, “Thorin is capable enough to handle the rule for few days.” The king hummed to himself and then glanced at his first grandson. Thorin returned the look and shifted slightly.

“My liege...” Balin started but was stopped by Thrór´s raised hand.

“After all, you will be here to assist him with his duties.” He bowed his head a little and raised his brow, looking at the advisor meaningfully. The white-haired dwarf slumped his shoulders in defeat and remained silent.

 

“Very well then! I will be back as soon as possible. This is a very important matter and it must be taken care of immediately.  I could send Thorin, true, but a little practice in real ruling won´t harm him. Now,” the king stood and stepped down from the throne, stopping in front of Thorin, “I believe you won´t disappoint me, dear grandson. You have my full trust.”

“I will do my best in your absence, my king.” Thorin answered with a small but firm nod, his blue eyes never leaving his grandfather.

Thrór then leaned slightly to whisper to his ear: “Loosen up a bit or the lasses won´t be interested in you.” He chuckled. Thorin´s huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Well then! I have to prepare for my journey. Keep the mountain in order, child!” The king waved and retreated to his chambers leaving his loyal grandson and unhappy advisor behind.

 

As soon the door closed behind the old dwarf Thorin turned to Balin – who seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the rug with his stare.

“What´s wrong, my friend? Don´t you trust me with the rule?”

“It is not that. I trust you as I trust the king.”

“Where is the problem then?”  Thorin asked as he gestured towards the door.

 

They slowly made their way towards the exit. “Firstly, I don´t think that Thrór´s little trip to the Iron Hills is a good idea. The roads are dangerous – crawling with Orcs and who knows what else.”

“He will have many good soldiers with him. They will be there in no time. There is no chance the enemies could even catch his scent,” Thorin said calmly. He expected to hear an objection but the only thing he heard were the faint clatter of their boots. He almost didn´t notice when Balin stopped, his eyes still focused on the floor. Thorin turned to his mentor with a raised eyebrow. 

 

“It´s not really the king´s trip to Gror, is it?” Thorin said tilting his head.

“No, ´tis not,” the advisor admitted. “It´s just... Frerin,” Balin huffed unhappily.

Thorin´s mouth quirked up in a smile, but it disappeared almost immediately and his face twisted in panic.

_Oh yeah. Frerin._

With the King gone travelling to the Iron Hills to discuss the sudden increase of Orc raids, and their father in Greenwood to adjust the trades and treaties, Erebor was left with no one who could control Frerin´s antics.

 

Balin let out a barely audible whine. Thorin snapped out of his thoughts and dashed towards the training grounds, leaving his mentor alone in the hall.

 

The older dwarf eyes were following Thorin few moments before he made his way to his chamber.

He made himself some tea and sat down on his comfortable armchair. It was not long before he was lost in his own thoughts.

 

Frerin was a good dwarf. Kind, patient, loyal and very intelligent. Always thinking ahead and usually solving without violence.  He was a flawless marksman and good fighter, although a little bit clumsy when it came to hand-to-hand combat. He loved his kingdom as much as he loved to have fun. And that was the little hitch in his personality. He loved playing pranks on others – frogs in bathrooms, chairs covered in glue and unexpected icy showers were a common occurrence. Fire in the kitchens was nothing unusual either.  The pranks were never dangerous or extremely inappropriate, although they could be slightly annoying after a longer period of time.

 

And Thorin? Thorin was an heir to the throne and he lived up to this title.  His personality was almost a perfect opposite of his brother´s. While Frerin was all smiles and jokes – much like their current king, Thorin was stoic and serious – very much like his father Thrain. However, Frerin had a habit of dragging Thorin into his pranks, and the latter – being a young dwarf himself – usually succumbed.

 

Balin was one of the luckier ones. Frerin admired and respected him so he was spared most of the time. Also, Thrór´s and Thrain´s presence in the mountain was usually reducing the young dwarf´s range of possibilities.

However, the monarch won´t be in reach shortly, and Balin was sure that Erebor will end up in shambles sooner or later.

“Mahal help us,” he thought.

 

* * *

 

Dwalin was having a great time! He was relaxed and happy. After all, he didn’t have a valid alibi to beat the shit out of a royal son every day.

He cracked his knuckles.

“Again! Get up!” he growled, smirking. Oh yes, excellent day, indeed.

 

Frerin, on the other hand, wasn’t so excited. Spitting out some blood he stood up and rolled his eyes.

“Mahal, Dwalin! Gimme a break!” he huffed, returning to his defensive pose.

 

“Quit yer whining, you brat! Stop dodging and block the damn hits! Your agility won´t be enough in narrow places!”

“I am happy enough with the dodging, thank you very much.” _I am definitely NOT blocking hits from you._

Unluckily, Dwalin was having none of Frerin´s shit today. He growled and charged as a pissed off bull. Frerin jumped slightly in panic, quickly assessing the situation. Dwalin was a weapon of mass destruction. Deadly, fast and merciless. His body was balanced. No weakness. Almost.

 

Frerin gulped, took a deep breath and ran towards his opponent. Dwalin´s barking laugh-growl filled the room. He swung his fist at Frerin but the lad ducked left, few inches before it could actually hit him and twirled around to run away from the attacker. Just before he could reach the rocky pillar he turned around to glance where Dwalin was, but he was greeted with the latter´s other fist. He tumbled to the ground with and undignified yelp in the last second, causing the warrior to hit the pillar instead.

 

“Oh fuck me!” Frerin cursed. _I wouldn’t be surprised if the pillar collapsed._

The younger was in the process of crawling clumsily away from the cursing dwarf when he felt a large hand seizing his ankle.

 

The very unmanly, blood curdling screech Frerin let out the moment he was dragged back could wake the dead.

“C´mere you  squeaky shit!” Dwalin growled as he wrestled with the still screeching lad. Dwalin pinned Frerin´s wrists above his head and punched his stomach, which earned him a bite in the forearm. Frerin then managed to kick Dwalin over and straddle his torso. He even managed to punch the other´s face twice, but that´s when his luck ran out. Dwalin caught his fist after the second punch and headbutted his face which made Frerin grunt in pain. He pressed his palms against his bleeding nose and fell on his side. Dwalin grabbed Frerin´s tunic harshly and hurled him into the empty weapon stands.

 

Dwalin was about to stride over when he was hit by a wooden debris.

“Throwing junk at me won´t help you much,” he laughed.

Two other pieces connected with his face.

“We´ll see,” Frerin shot back, breaking into run with a highly irritated Dwalin on his heels.

 

The brawl continued for good fifteen minutes when they were interrupted.

 

Nori was standing at the door staring at the frozen duo with amusement. Both dwarfs on the ground, Frerin´s arms around Dwalin´s neck and legs locked around his waist, biting his ear, and Dwalin, red as a ripe tomato, trying to pry off Frerin´s arms, choking.

“I see that you are having a great time together, lads!” Nori laughed.

“Not really,” Frerin said, deadpan.

Dwalin somehow managed to rise to his knees and then fall backwards, to slam Frerin against the ground, effectively knocking the wind out of him.

 The latter was left on the ground, squirming like a worm, while Dwalin was catching his breath.

 

“I´ve got some news to share with you,” Nori said as he sat down on the bench.

“Good or bad news?” Dwalin asked, narrowing his eyes. He didn’t like the way Nori was grinning at Frerin.

“Depends on the person,” the spymaster giggled.

Dwalin offered Frerin his hand and helped him to his feet. Frerin dusted himself off while his sparring partner made sure he didn’t suffer any significant injuries and they made their way to the bench.

“I hope you won´t disappoint me, Nori,” Frerin said wiping his bloodied nose.

“The king is leaving for the Iron Hills,” he stated.

“Oh no.” Dwalin´s peaceful facade crumbled into pieces and was replaced by unhappiness in a blink of an eye.

“Oh yeah?” Frerin face, on the other hand, split in a perfect smile. He instantly forgot all the pain and bruises. “Well that is excellent news!” he exclaimed happily, sitting next to Nori and slinging his arm around his shoulders.

 

The door was slammed open, revealing a panting Thorin. On the way there he was silently praying that he would get to his brother before someone could let him know about their grandfather´s trip.

Oh how wrong he was.

The moment he saw the shit-eating grin plastered on Frerin´s face he knew, that it was way too late.

“Oh fuck no!” he cried.

“Oh my darling brother!” Frerin stood up and marched to his brother, “if you came to share the exceptionally good news, I have to disappoint you, I´m afraid. Nori here already told me.”

The said dwarf was immediately rewarded by  Thorin´s famous death-glare.

 

_Ayayay..._ Nori thought. Waving at Thorin innocently, he sought for the safest escape way. Unfortunately for him, Dwalin already placed his big paw on his shoulder.

“Ugh... I think I have to... yeah, I have to... you know, gentlemen, check on his majesty?” he stuttered.

“Hoho, you´re not going anywhere, _friend_ ,” Dwalin trilled.

“So Thorin! What are your plans for the following few weeks? Huh?” Frerin inquired. “Will you majestically grace the throne all the time? Or will you finally take the giant stick out of your arse and enjoy the freedom?”

“The first thing I´m going to do is to tie your sorry arse to a chair, lock you up in a room, seal it and melt the key,” Thorin fumed.

“So aggressive,” the younger royal shook his head.

 

 

* * *

 

All three royal siblings stood by the front gate, saying their good-byes to their grandfather. The moon was casting a brilliant silver light on the landscape and the wind was silently whistling around them.

 

“I hope you three will ensure the mountain will be in top order when I´m back,” Thrór uttered as he hugged Dís. “No mischief while I´m gone, Frerin!” He glanced thoughtfully at the lad. Frerin just grinned and scratched the back of his head.

“Don´t worry, grandfather. I will keep an eye on them,” Dís promised, kissing the old dwarf´s cheek sweetly.

“I know you will, darling.”

 

After hugging his grandchildren, Thrór hopped onto his pony and set forth.

“Bye grandfather! Have a safe trip!” Dís cried out.

All three waved and went back inside.

 

“I hope you´ll behave, Frerin, I would hate to bury you in the mines,” Dís said lovingly, but the presence of the threatening undertone was spoiling the sweet air around the lass.

 

“Ehehe, you know me, sister heart! Me and misbehaving? Never!”  Frerin sang.

 

“Mahal help us,” Thorin muttered as he rolled his eyes in silent prayer.

 

“I´m gonna be as sweet as honey,” Frerin knew exactly what he was going to do first.

 

He would party... and he would party hard!

 

 

* * *

 

Frerin decided to take a little revenge on Balin. How dared the old dwarf mistrust him! He wouldn’t set the mountain on fire! Such an outrageous accusation had to be punished!

 

Although Frerin loved the dwarf as his second father, he would not pardon such ill treatment.

 

He found the dwarf in his chamber, sitting on his armchair, reading some documents and stroking his grey beard thoughtfully.

 

“Heya, Balin! How are you doing?” Frerin chirped, barging through the door.

Balin tore his eyes from the paper and eyed the lad for few moments before he answered.

“I am doing great, thank you, and I hope my good mood won´t be ruined anytime soon. Also, kicking the door open without knocking is rude. Manners, laddie. Why are you here, anyway? ” He squinted at the other in suspicion.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I come in peace, old friend,” Frerin laughed.

“I´m not that old.”

“Of course you are not.”

“I still don’t know why you´re here,” Balin repeated, still showing signs of suspicion.

“Oh for no reason particularly, I just came by to say hi and ask you about your day.”

 

Just before he could question that statement a knock interrupted him. The door slowly opened revealing the royal daughter – Dís.

“Hello th- what are you doing here?” she asked accusingly when she spotted her brother.

“Why is everybody acting like this around me?” Frerin cried in mock offence.

“Because there is trouble wherever you are, darling brother,” Dís retorted.

“It´s not like I live of pranking! Am I forbidden to say hello to my friend?”

“You are definitely not, but I highly doubt you are here only to pay a visit to Balin here.”

“Pche!” Frerin swished his head theatrically.

 

“Dís, darling, what brings you here?” Balin asked, standing up and offering a chair to the young dwarrowdam – ignoring Frerin´s muttering about not being offered a chair.

“Tea-time!” Dís exclaimed happily, raising the tankard full of water. “And gossips,” she added excitedly.

“Oh Mahal,” Frerin rolled his eyes. He took the tea a-kettle and filled it with the water Dís brought and put it over the fire in the hearth.

 

Both his sister and his mentor watched closely his every movement.

 

“Oh Eru, stop that! I´m just helping with the tea!” He shook his head.

 

As he was taking out two little cups the other dwarves busied themselves with gossiping about the lords and ladies of Erebor. He took the fresh mint leaves and put them into a larger teapot, adding a sliced lemon.

 

The tea-kettle whistled and he poured the boiling water into the teapot. Setting it on the tray with the sugar and cups he brought it over to the table where Dís and Balin sat, still frantically discussing.

 

“Enjoy the tea,” Frerin mumbled and left the room.

 

Once outside, his calm facade fell off and his mouth twisted in a devilish smile.

_I hope you enjoy the tea. Ehehehehe._

“Mission complete!”

 

If he stayed longer, he could hear the sudden spluttering, choking and cursing of the dwarves in the room.

“Ugh, by my beard! Why the hell is the tea salty!” Balin cursed.

“FRERIN!” Dís shout echoed through the hall.

 

 

* * *

 

Frerin strolled down the hall, happily. He left the hallways and stood upon one of the giant bridges that made crossed the mountain. He looked around, marvelling at the beauty around him.

Erebor was beautiful. The dim firelights glittered all around him, from the top to the bottom all levels, connected by monstrous bridges, made of black shiny stone and decorated with silver lines, were lit by warm orange lights.

 

The lowest part of the mountain was one giant mine, separated into smaller ones. The bridges ended just above them. The only way down was through tunnels in the mountain´s walls. The mine was illuminated by giant lanterns that hung from the last bridges all the way to the bottom.

 

Frerin loved them. As a child, he would always sneak through the tunnels and sit in small windows, staring at the lanterns. His father even made a tiny replica of the lantern for him. He received it on his twentieth birthday. Since then he always run through the tunnels with the small lantern in his hands. ´Firefly´ the miners called him.

 

Smiling at the memory he made his way to the now crowdless market.

 

Picking up Dwalin along the way they entered the small inn. Frerin made sure he camouflaged himself a bit – he borrowed a plain tunic from the warrior with matching pants, tied his hair into a high ponytail, fastened a crimson kerchief around his head and wrapped a similar one around his neck.

 

Bofur, Nori and Bombur were already there, ordering a round.

 

The place was relatively empty so they enjoyed the calm. The ale was one of the best of all Erebor so they were quite generous with the quantity. Frerin could feel the slight tingling in his fingertips after the fourth round. By the sixth they took out the deck of cards and started playing. The looser had to drink a shot of spirits.

 

The mood of the dwarves improved significantly after few games. Frerin was sure he lost all feeling in his fingers. The world began to blur slightly. They laughed and joked and played cards, although the game became quite chaotic.

 

The barman only shook his head and laughed as Dwalin jumped on the table, tore his tunic off and began to sing. Bofur was lying on the ground with his legs propped on the bench, howling with laughter, Nori danced around the table, adding some vocals to support Dwalin´s singing, Bombur was fast asleep in the corner and Frerin was clutching his belly from the laughter. It was not long before Dwalin grabbed his arm and dragged the lad beside him on the table, seizing his shoulders with his arm and kissing him on his cheek, which made Nori laugh harder and wolf-whistle at them.

 

A crowd of dwarves gathered around them, clapping and singing along with them. The onlookers were drunk as they were if not more but there were no brawls that night. Few of them took they instruments – fiddles, clarinets and harps – and played for the two singing individuals on the table. Also, everyone was so drunk that they didn’t even notice that the dancing chap beside Dwalin was their prince.

 

Dwalin slung an arm around Frerin´s waist, and as the fast song came to its finish he swept him off his feet and spun him around which made the latter giggle like a little lady. The warrior jumped down from the table and sat on the bench still holding Frerin.

 

The crowd cheered and laughed and whistled. The lads only laughed with them.

“Free round for everybody!” Frerin yelled and was rewarded with even louder cheer from the crowd.

He made himself comfortable in Dwalin´s lap and put his arms around the older dwarf´s neck.

“Kiss him already!” Someone from the crowd shouted and the entire inn yelled in agreement.

“Show us a proper snog, lads!” Someone else spoke up. The gathering cheered again.

“Only,” Frerin shouted back, completely ignoring every little voice in his head that cried against the deed, “if the mighty warrior proves himself worthy!” he slurred. “Who dares to challenge him to a round of arm wrestling?”

“And if he loses? Do I get a kiss then?” another dwarf asked suggestively.

“Why yes, IF you can beat him!” Frerin said wiggling his brows seductively which earned him an excited murmur from the crowd.

 

“I challenge him!” The dwarf from before came forth and slammed his hand on the table, stripping from his tunic as well. Frerin only chuckled. Sure, the dwarf was big and muscular, with thick brown beard with silver beads and many braids, but nobody could beat Dwalin in an arm wrestle.

 

Both participants took their places, placed their bent elbows on the table and gripped each other´s hand. Frerin put his palm on top of their closed fists and winked at them.

“Ready! Set!” His eyes met Dwalin´s for a second before the yelled “Go!”

 

Their biceps bulged and they grinned at each other. After good minute Dwalin slammed the dwarf´s arm on the surface and the other howled in pain. Dwalin jumped and punched the air, shouting in Khuzdul, challenging others to try their luck. Everybody in the crowd, although fairly drunk, knew better than to wrestle with Dwalin.

 

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” The crowd cheered with one voice. Dwalin turned to the grinning Frerin, still a bit unsure, but not thinking very much in his drunk state.

 

Frerin licked his lips and grinned at the crowd.

“Seems we have a winner. And the winner deserves his price!”

He walked to the standing dwarf and placed his hands on his shoulders, pushing him to sit down on the bench and then straddling his hips.

 

Dwalin groped his ass with one hand and grabbed the prince´s neck with the other. They locked their lips, tentatively at first, but when the crowd cheered and clapped the kiss escalated rather rapidly.

 

Frerin bit Dwalin´s lip teasingly and then assaulted the other´s mouth rather harshly. They continued for a good half minute as the mob whistled and laughed.

They broke apart and Dwalin attacked the prince´s neck, biting down. Frerin let out and undignified moan.

“Get a room you doves!” Bofur laughed and Dwalin then let go.

 

“Another round for everybody!!” Frerin yelled again. The rest of the night was just one big blur.

 

 

* * *

 

When the morning came, the royal son was awoken by a loud knocking on his chamber door. He groaned and pushed his head under a pillow. The door was slammed open and Thorin marched in.

 

“Get up you lazy log! You´ll miss the breakfast.” The sound of Thorin´s voice was like thunder in Frerin´s ears.

Any other morning he would jump from the bed at the mention of breakfast but today was not the day. He cried pathetically as Thorin pulled his blanket off, his brother´s voice still ringing in his head.

“Mahal, shut up! You´re killing me!” He whimpered clutching his aching head, squinting at the other.

“What the fuck are you wearing? You look like a village boy,” Thorin stated as he sat down on the bed, stripping his brother from the horrible clothes. He examined Frerin closely and tilted his head to the side.

“Is that a hickey on your neck?!” he asked his voice laced with... Worry? Disbelief? Suspicion? Frerin couldn´t tell.

“What?” he asked dumbly.

“Is that a fucking hickey on your neck, brother?!” Thorin repeated and Frerin blinked absentmindedly. He could hear the anger and outrage in Thorin´s voice.

 

The younger brother stood up and walked to the mirror, closely observing the reddish mark on his neck.

“I... think... yes...” he said slowly scratching the spot. Thorin was sitting on the bed tensely, his brows furrowed, looking at his brother like a predator.

“Who did that?” he asked with forced calmness.

“Ugh... I-uh...” Frerin returned to the bed and fell down on it with a huff. “I´m not quite sure, actually. We were drinking a lot last night.”

 

Thorin took a deep calming breath. If he would get the fucker who laid his dirty hands on his baby brother he would have his head and he would bathe in his blood.

“So you don’t remember?” he asked, faking nonchalance.

 

“Hmm.... I am not sure... Oh wait!” He paused, his face twisting in deep thought. The hangover was one of the worst he ever had and his head felt like bell tower.

“I remember... Dwalin wrestling with some dwarf... and then...” His eyes shot open and his mouth fell open. The realisation was like an avalanche. He looked his still tensed brother in the eye.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. Thorin´s tension fell off and was replaced by a dark aura. Frerin still didn’t break the eye contact.

“I think Dwalin...” he didn’t manage to finish his sentence when the door opened, revealing a distressed Dwalin.

“Frerin! We have to—” He stopped, looking from Frerin to his brother, who was watching him wide-eyed. The reason why Dwalin didn’t dare to come any further into the room was because the stare Thorin was gracing him with, was downright terrifying. He looked as a madman who was about to go on a killing spree.

 

Dwalin jumped slightly, gripping the door handle tighter, as Thorin stood up and walked over to him, smiling at him brokenly, still having that madman look on his face. He was a skilled warrior and a loyal friend to Thorin and nothing could ever, _ever_ , scare him, however, he would re-value this statement after today.

 

Thorin tilted his head slightly, stepping up to his loyal friend, still holding that scary smile. He patted his friend on his shoulder lightly. Dwalin glanced at Frerin – who was still eyeing his brother tensely from the bed.

“Dwalin,” Thorin started sweetly, “I am so glad to see you!” Dwalin was sweating like a rabbit in a pot.

“Thorin,” the warrior said carefully. “Before you do anything everybody would regret ,” _mainly I_ , he added mentally, “I would just like to say, that it is not what it looks like,” he finished, his voice shaking slightly.

 

“Aha,” Thorin laughed sweetly, nodding lightly and then glancing back at Frerin – who was still frozen on the bed – his eyes gliding through the hickey, then he shot a look at Dwalin´s bitten lip.

Dwalin was about to think he´d get out of this without any complications, but when Thorin´s palm clenched on his tunic he dismissed the thought.

_I´m gonna die, I´m gonna die, I´m gonna die, I´m gonna die..._

Still smiling, Thorin suddenly unsheathed his dagger and swung it at his scared friend. The smile changed to a maniacal glare in a second.

 

Dwalin ducked, but he tripped on his own legs and fell down on his butt.

“Thorin! Mahal! No! Nothing happened! Calm down!” he yelled, freaking out.

Thorin, however, only saw red.

Frerin sprung from the bed and tried to hold his raging brother back.

“I AM GOING TO GUT YOU, YOU TRAITOROUS DOG! PERVERT! MOLESTING MY BROTHER WHEN HE IS DRUNK AND DEFENCELESS!”

“What am I? A fucking missy?” Frerin remarked as he grabbed Thorin´s hand with the dagger, put an arm around his middle and struggled to drag his brother and his merciless kicks from the poor Dwalin.

 

The guards were in the room as soon as they heard the prince´s shouts, looking confusedly from Dwalin, to the pissed Thorin, restricted by Frerin.

 

“TRAITOR!” Thorin shouted and then immediately switched into Khuzdul, shouting more obscene insults at his friend. Some of them were rather colourful. The guards were quite dumbstruck, just shuffling on the spot not really sure of what is happening.

 

“SEIZE HIM!” Thorin shouted and pointed at Dwalin when Frerin managed to wrestle the dagger out of his hand. “SEIZE HIM AND THROW HIM IN THE DUNGEONS!”

“Calm down brother! Leave him!” Frerin tried to calm Thorin down, shaking his head at the guards – who were holding a very unhappy Dwalin by his arms.

“The hell you leave him! Mahal knows what dirty thoughts he has!! What if he hurts you!?” Thorin said worriedly, holding his brothers face in his palms. The two guards bulged their eyes at the princes, then looking at Dwalin in question. The latter only shook his head.

 

“Please, just let him go!” Frerin turned to the guards and rolled his eyes. “Thorin´s overreacting.”

He jerked his head at the guards, signalling that they were free to go. Dwalin stood awkwardly by the door massaging his kicked shoulder, looking apologetically.

 

“Thorin, nothing happened! We were drunk and I wasn´t thinking. We were just having a bit fun! It was just a kiss!” Frerin explained.

“Just a kiss. JUST A KISS?!” Thorin shouted outrageously. “He KISSED you and—”

“Why the hell do you assume HE kissed ME?” Frerin asked, arching a brow at his brother. “What if I kissed HIM?” That made Thorin close his mouth with a loud click.

“Listen, we were drunk and-and I felt like it!” Frerin shrugged. “It was just a friendly kiss really,” Frerin lied looking at Dwalin, whose cheeks ignited in red immediately.

 

The crown prince eyed him sceptically. Frerin only shook his head in the ´so-what´ manner.

“Actually,” Dwalin piped in, Thorin shooting a disgusted look at him, “I came to apologize for yesterday,” he said, his eyes fixed on the suddenly very interesting floor.

He bowed deeply, saying: “I am very sorry for my yesterday´s behaviour, my prince, I will gladly accept any punishment for my actions.” 

 

“See? He is not even at fault and yet he came to apologize,” Frerin said holding Thorin just in case his older brother would suddenly charge at the still bowing Dwalin again. “It wasn’t your fault, Dwalin, don’t feel bad. We were fairly drunk and I wasn’t thinking at all, and also,” He added when Thorin´s glare wasn’t subsiding, “It was I who initiated the act. Don´t be mad at him! I apologize to you too, Dwalin, for getting you into trouble, and to you too, brother. It was very inappropriate of me.”

 

Thorin still eyed Dwalin suspiciously but his temper calmed a bit.

 

“Very well, I trust you both regret your actions.” He looked at the smiling Frerin and nodded.

“We do, brother.” _But I may have found my guilty pleasure..._ the younger added mentally. “It´s not like we´re gonna be courting after one drunk incident... after all, Dwalin has his eyes already set on somebody else.” He winked at the startled warrior.

“Ah- How- What?!” he stuttered.

“Get dressed then. And have breakfast with me.” Thorin patted his brother´s shoulder and made his way outside.

 

“I´m watching you,” he mouthed to Dwalin as he walked out.

The latter almost whined.

 

When the door closed, Dwalin strode over to the half naked and smirking Frerin. With his hands on his hips he laughed heartily, wiggling his eyebrows at the nervous warrior.

“Dís is a very happy dwarrowdam.”

“You really want me dead, don’t you!” Dwalin hissed. “How the heck do you even know?!”

“Man, you really are an awkward fuck around her. I am really surprised Thorin doesn’t know.”

Dwalin huffed. “Don´t tell a soul!”

“You have my word!” Frerin exclaimed solemnly, placing his palm upon his heart.

 

“Also I am very sorry, my prince,” Dwalin got to his knees and bowed his head. “Being drunk does not excuse my actions. I know my place and I deeply regret my deeds last night. I meant it when I said I would accept any punishment.”

 

Frerin smiled and dragged Dwalin back to his feet.

“I told you already, it´s fine. It was mainly my fault, anyway. I will not have you whipped or anything. Besides, I quite enjoyed it. You really are a good kisser, man!”

If Dwalin opened his eyes any further they would have fallen out. Frerin just winked and stuck his tongue out at the crimson dwarf.

 

He turned on his heels and slammed the door on his wardrobe open.

“Now help me get dressed properly for the breakfast. I would hate to make Thorin wait!”

 


	2. Surely you jest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters arrive and make things complicated.

The royal siblings enjoyed the warm evening on the open terrace. Thorin and Dís were sitting in the soft armchairs and Frerin was pacing to and fro by the iron railing. Eating smoked meat and drinking the wine their father sent from Greenwood as they talked about everything and nothing. The plains before them were bathing in silver light of the high full moon.  It´s been eight days since Thrór left Erebor.

 

“You know,” Thorin started thoughtfully as he glared at his beverage, “the wine _is_ rather tasty.”

“Did I just hear right?” Dís snorted, “ _you_ praising wine from elves?” She shot an amused look at Frerin who returned it with a shrug as he sipped from his own goblet.

Thorin rolled his eyes. “I do appreciate a good wine, sister, even if it´s an elven one.”

“I wasn’t even aware you could say the ´e´ word related with something positive. You know,” Frerin furrowed his brows, “Elvessssss...” He hissed, imitating Thorin.

“Ha-ha! Hilarious,” Thorin growled sipping his wine.

 

They made fun of each other and laughed for quite some time when they were suddenly interrupted by an impatient cough from behind. All three turned their heads in unison.  Balin shuffled on his feet before he coughed again and said: “Ravens came with messages from your father and grandfather.”

The three of them exchanged looks.

“Go ahead,” Thorin said and squirmed in his seat, then gestured towards Frerin´s empty seat, which the older Dwarf gladly accepted.

 

Balin took out two scrolls. Setting one on the table next to him and opening the other he began to read. First one was from their father – he was sending his regards along with spice samples and wines from the Greenwood. Reminding his sons and daughter to behave themselves in his absence, especially stressing Frerin´s name – the said dwarf just rolled his eyes and drained his share of wine.

“How nice,” he silently remarked.

The other and notably longer part of the letter was filled with boring reports about the treaties and politics – which all of them endured in ´one-ear-in-and-out-the-other´ style. Even Thorin, the ever responsible and loyal son, chewed a piece of smoked meat, made the most annoyed face he could muster. When his patience ran thin he looked at Balin, who immediately took note of the ´no-one-gives-a-shit-really-so-could-you-please-spare-us-of-this-torment´ look and happily skipped the part.

 

The closing of the letter, however, surprised the three greatly. Well, two only, really. It said that Thrain won´t be present at the upcoming celebrations of Durin´s day. Allegedly, there are still many things he had to take care of, and shouldn’t be postponed.

 

At this statement Thorin slammed the goblet on the table, clenching his jaw tightly, his eyes aflame with fury. Dís met Frerin´s disappointed eyes, her own welling with concern. The latter dragged his palm over his face and averted his gaze from her, staring at the distant lines of Dale.

 

Balin noticed that the air temperature around Thorin dropped to glacial levels. He coughed awkwardly and put the scroll aside, reaching for the other one.

 

“How nice of him,” Thorin spoke, venom dripping from the words, “to remind us that family and traditions come second.”

 

Frerin still eyed the distant Dale, shunning the eyes of his siblings and Dís sighed slowly, filling Thorin´s chalice to the top, as well as her own.

 

“What news of our grandfather?” she uttered hopefully, setting her hand upon Thorin´s in attempt of easing his fury. He relaxed the death grip on the poor goblet stem and captured his sister´s hand in his own, squeezing it gently, his thumb storing her knuckles.

Balin unrolled the second scroll. He quickly scanned the text and smiled softly to himself. This letter was so much different from the one of their father. He took a deep breath and began to read.

 

Thrór, unlike his son, took care of the matters in lightning speed, saying that he will be coming back as soon as possible. He only briefly mentioned the affairs in the Iron hills, adding that there is nothing to worry about. The letter continued on a lax note, the tension caused by the former letter immediately subsiding. Thrór divided the letter in individual parts, all of them labelled with name of the addressee.

 

First one was meant for Dís – informing her of little gossips and latest fashion trends of the Iron Mountains. Also saying that he trusted her that she is making sure her brothers behave, adding that he has a little surprise for her.

 

Second part was for Frerin – the beginning hinting that Thrór still hoped that the mountain isn’t in ashes, the next part was dedicated to the description of various kinds of foods and beverages currently very favoured in the mountains – Frerin perked out at the promise of recipes and alcohol samples. In the end of Frerin´s part, Thrór informed him that there is a chance that he might have made him an archery trainer – due to the fact that there was a fair number of young dwarves who voiced their interest in the art, and the fact that Frerin was the most excellent archer among dwarven warriors (the rumour about the eccentric skill of the royal son spread like wildfire after the first war with orcs) – which made Frerin hide his red-cheeked, smiling face behind the goblet, despite the hint of irritation at the mention of responsibilities.

 

The third part was for Thorin. It started with a rather formal greeting, and continued with the usual – Thrór voiced his trust in Thorin, how he knew that he was keeping a good eye on the ruling, he mentioned that Gror was sending his regards to all three of them, as well as he wished his own son would grow into such a responsible and brilliant lad Thorin was. The text went on and on, all possible matters mentioned – like Dáin´s visit later this month, since the Durin´s day is knocking on the door and so on.

Thorin calmly sipped his wine, eyeing the meat and thinking about whether or not to eat another one, nodding absentmindedly. That is, until one essential part.

 

**´I have come to the conclusion that you have grown to the age in which you are required to ponder about finding a proper spouse. During my stay here in the Iron Hills, I have taken upon me the responsibility of finding a fine wife for you, since you yourself are rather challenged in making any contact with any woman at all. After a long search I have deemed few of them worthy of you, but I believe that you will quite happy to hear that I have found the perfect wife for you – it is none other than the beautiful Lady Taelynn. I invited her over to spend yet another winter in Erebor.´**

 

Thorin was quite nonchalant about the beginning but at the mention of the name of his supposed wife, both Frerin and he choked on the wine they were drinking and spat it out rapidly. While Frerin was busy trying to hold back the laughter that threatened to burst out any second, sounding partially like a drowning pig and partially like farting horse, Dís was staring at Balin in silent astonishment, her mouth and eyes wide open, completely unaware that she tipped her goblet with wine to the point where it started dripping out on the floor.

 

The violent fit of coughing and choking continued and Thorin´s face was gaining a very aggressive shade of crimson.  Fortunately, Balin was a quick thinker and seeing that no help is going to come from Thorin´s siblings he calmly walked over to the crown prince and bashed his back until the latter could breathe again.

 

“You are joking, right?” Frerin asked after a good while, his voice a mix of amusement and panic.

“I don´t think so, laddie,” Balin said almost immediately, eyeing Thorin from the corner of his eye to make sure the crown prince won´t start choking again.

 

Thorin was literally stunned into shock, his face a perfect image of horror. Dís stood abruptly, knocking her chair over.

“You can´t be serious!” she said, perhaps a bit too loudly. Balin answered only with another shrug.

“Correct me if I´m wrong, but to my knowledge Taelynn is a cold-hearted gold-digging good-for-nothing _wretch_ , who thinks only about herself and nothing more! How could grandfather even consider her?!” she cried outrageously her blue eyes alit with cold fire. Oh, how she hated her.

 

“She is as ugly as a moulted mule,” Frerin piped in. “And she is not even Thorin´s type!” His voice escalated into an indignant shout.

“Type? I was led to believe your bother doesn´t have a type,” Balin squinted, laying his palms on the table and leaning towards Frerin, demanding answers.

 

“Oh, please!” Dís stepped in. “Everybody knows my dear eldest brother enjoys fine and delicate ladies, with less facial hair than he has because it hurts his pride!” she explained angrily.

“Hey!” Thorin shouted indignantly.

 

“Yeah! Like Bella!” Frerin shouted but then froze suddenly, biting his tongue, his panicked look darting towards his brother. Thorin´s body jerked slightly as the name left Frerin´s lips. Dís shot a stern look at her elder brother, her anger partially forgotten.

Balin could slice the sudden tension in the room. This was something very unusual, to see Thorin being on edge like this. The name piqued his interest, but the many years of being a councillor of the king thought him not to poke at the subject just yet.

“Sorry,” Frerin uttered silently, his voice laced with regret. Thorin´s only answer was a subtle tense nod.

 

“ _That_ is not the problem now,” Dís exclaimed, leaving no room for further discussion on this matter.

 

She then looked at Balin, who silently stood by the table, observing.

“Balin, you are the most loyal and honest person I know,” the royal lady started, her temper immediately rising again. “You served our family for a long time and you will surely continue to do so.” Balin started sweating suddenly. He didn’t like where this conversation was heading. Dís continued nevertheless, and if she noticed Balin´s sudden discomfort she didn’t comment it.

“How-” She paused and took a deep breath to calm her nerves, continuing with forced calmness, which didn’t last long, “...did our grandfather...” she drew another breath and her voice raised noticeably, “...get the idea that that spawn of hell is a suitable wife for Thorin?!”

 

Balin tactically migrated closer to the door, and when Dís finished her screaming with slamming her hand on the table, he stood completely unmoving, barely daring to breathe. Noticing Thorin and Frerin staring at their sister and leaning slightly away from her in hope of getting away from her anger, he cleared his throat and answered:

“With all due respect, I have no idea, milady.”

 

Dís closed her eyes and took few other deep breaths. She then dashed out of the balcony, leaving the three bewildered dwarves looking at her back.

“Where are you going?” Thorin shouted after her.

“To write a letter to our dear king,” she shot back, slamming the door closed with such a force t left the whole room shaking.

 

Thorin and Frerin exchanged questioning looks.

“You, dear brother,” Frerin finally spoke as he took up Thorin´s goblet from the floor, filled it with wine and handed it to him, “are knee-deep in shit.”

Thorin let out a whine and emptied the drink-vessel in one go. Frerin made himself comfortable in the armchair on Thorin´s right and tore a piece of smoked meat from the pile on the table.

“Well, whatever is going to happen,” he spoke, eyeing the meat as if he could read their fortune in it, then looked at his extremely unhappy brother, “it surely will be interesting. But man, Taelynn? That is worse than marrying a dragon.” He shook his head and popped the meat in his mouth, chewing at it excitedly, waiting for Thorin´s feedback, crossing his legs.

 

He was rewarded with an unhappy sigh. Thorin was resting his elbows on his knees and massaging his eyebrows.

 

“Do you want me to read the letter to the end, laddie?” Balin asked, breaking the deafening silence.

“Don´t—” Thorin immediately half shouted half moaned, “- just don´t.” He shook his head, looking more tired than ever. Balin folded the parchment and laid it carefully on the table. He watched the crown prince drag his palm over his face. After a short while he straightened in his seat.

“I need some space.” He proclaimed and left the two remaining dwarves alone on the terrace.

 

“So,” Balin piped in, “Bella?” He slowly turned towards Frerin whose face immediately twisted in guilt as Balin mentioned the obviously _not_ dwarvish name.

Frerin closed his eyes and sighed, abandoning the chair hand holder´s delicate carving he was scratching.

“We were not supposed to mention this,” he muttered, his voiced filled with regret, guilt and sadness. Balin didn’t push, he saw that the lad was still deciding whether or not to tell him anything.

 

“She –” Frerin started at last, opening his eyes and looking straight at the white-haired dwarf, “came during the summer with one of the caravans carrying food supplies and spices and left just before winter.” He paused, setting his eyes on the full moon. “It is a funny story really. But it is not my place to tell.” Balin understood that, although he was not pleased by it. The curiousness was biting his mind but he knew better than to force it out of Frerin now. He nodded solemnly.

“All I can say is that there never was, or ever will be, any other dearer to Thorin´s heart than she was. She was his One. I know it,” Frerin said sadly. He gazed into the distance, recalling the memories. Balin sat next to him, his brows furrowed and his mind racing. He sipped from his wine and looked at the clearly lost-in-thoughts Frerin.

“Why the past tense, laddie?” he voiced his question finally, turning to the still pondering lad.

 

The younger´s chest heaved with an unhappy sigh. “We believe she is no more. The caravan never arrived to its destination – the tidings came that they were ambushed on the road. And when we asked for her, nobody could answer us. Weather she was taken hostage or killed, we don’t know,”

Frerin finished, his tone sad and sour, draining the last bit of wine to wash away the bitter thoughts.

 

Balin sat in silence. He never knew of any of this. Now he kind of understood why Thorin wouldn’t look for a wife. Why he never showed any interest of the ladies that endlessly tried to catch his attention - always in vain.

 

Frerin stood up, hesitantly putting the goblet on the table. He walked towards the railing, closed his eyes and enjoyed the soft gale caressing his face.

“Hey, Balin?” he asked with a soft laugh. “Could you, perhaps, refrain from mentioning any of this to anyone else? Especially Thorin.” He scratched the back of his head as he turned back to look at the older dwarf sheepishly. “He wouldn’t be very happy.”

 

 Balin felt a pang of guilt, seeing the rueful smile Frerin gave him. “Aye, laddie. I will not.”

“Thank you. Now if you excuse me, I think I owe someone an apology.” Frerin gestured at the door slowly edging towards it, but looking at Balin, as if he needed permission.

“Off you go, lad. Good night,” Balin answered, nodding gently and with a quick ´good-night´ of his own, Frerin left the room.

 

Balin sat alone on the terrace, brokenly holding his goblet and the last drops of wine in it. So many questions were answered tonight and so many new arouse. His mind was swirling with thoughts, questions and theories, that he could almost feel the steam rising from his forehead. Nevertheless, only one thing was really setting his mind on fire, the name of Thorin´s mysterious lady – Bella – and Balin made a mental note to find out who she really was and if she was still alive.  

 

But first, he had to deal with the mess the king left him in. And that meant dealing with one very furious princess.

Balin sighed distressfully as he eyed the empty jar of wine.

“I´m not drunk enough for this.”

 

* * *

 

Dwalin was marching towards Frerin´s chamber door when he saw a furious Dís storming into the hall on the right, her hair waving angrily after her. He stood frozen for a moment, torn between going after her and checking on the two royal brothers. Blinking once, then twice, he chose to go quickly check on the brothers and then going after Dís. He sprinted towards the door, still looking in the direction where Dís stormed off and as he was about to touch the door-handle, the door opened and revealed a rather unhappy looking Thorin.

 

It was not only the fact that his good friend was looking unhappy, there was something else in his look – something that Dwalin used do see on the other brother. It was the same dull gleam that used to creep into Frerin´s eyes when he thought nobody was looking. Dwalin frowned when Thorin passed by, completely ignoring his presence. He quickly spun around and gently, but firmly, grabbed Thorin´s shoulder. The prince stopped and turned to face him.

 

“Everything alright?” Dwalin asked, but he knew that something was definitely _not_ alright.

Thorin answered with a heavy sigh and a tired look.

“My grandfather has gone mad.” The deadpan answer made Dwalin frown harder. Thorin rolled his eyes and sighed again. “Apparently, I´m getting married,” he shrugged helplessly.

Dwalin let out an undignified “Huh?!” after his friend turned on his heels and stomped off to the hall on the left, leaving the very bewildered Dwalin behind.

 

_Excellent..._ He thought looking left, at his retreating best friend and right, where Dís´ chambers were.

_Aaahh, fuck it! Thorin can wait._ He cursed mentally and ran to the hall on his right.

 

* * *

 

Frerin made a bee-line straight to Thorin´s chambers. He nervously shuffled in front of his door, torn between opening the door or leaving. He knew he messed up by breaking the silent taboo of never mentioning her again, and he had to make things right again. He knew how Thorin missed her and it hurt him to see his brother sad again.

 

He gathered all his courage and knocked softly on the door. He opened the door slightly, peeking inside. Thorin was there, sitting on the chair near the hearth, massaging his forehead with his fingers. Frerin also noticed the strong smell of pipe weed.

 

“Thorin,” he addressed his brother silently, stepping inside and closing the door after him. His brother didn´t show any signs of acknowledging his presence. Frerin hesitated for a moment.

He walked behind Thorin and softly put his arms around his brother affectionately, hiding his face in the crook of Thorin´s neck. 

“I´m sorry,” Frerin whispered again his skin.

 

Thorin silently put his palm on his arm and relaxed his head against Frerin´s shoulder, sighing heavily.

“It´s alright,” Thorin whispered back. He felt his brother shiver feebly.

“My tongue slipped, I didn´t mean to—” his voice broke and he felt Thorin´s hand squeeze his forearm softly.

“I know.”

 

They stayed like that for few minutes before Frerin untangled his hands from Thorin´s neck and stepped around to face his brother´s face, falling to his knees. Before he could say anything, he felt Thorin´s fingers fall on his lips. He let out a distressed whine, looking at his older brother with pleading eyes.

“It´s fine, Frerin,” Thorin said, smiling sweetly.

“But she is not the only thing that bothers you, right?” the younger asked warily. “It´s dad, isn´t it.”

 

Thorin sighed again, stood up and stalked towards the bed. Frerin shifted his legs so he was now sitting on the marble floor, watching his brother stripping from his fine robed into a soft plain dark blue tunic and equally plain black linen pants. He fell with his back on the bed with a heavy huff and stayed still. Frerin, still sitting on the very uncomfortable floor, looked towards the door and then again at his lying brother.

“I don´t want to talk about him neglecting his family,” he spat venomously.

 

Frerin huffed pitifully. “You know he has to do this. It´s not like he chose it.” Thorin stubbornly glared daggers at the ceiling, his chest heaving with angry breaths. His temper escalated to dangerous heights but he kept his shouting for himself for the sake of his brother.

“You know the trades with Greenwood are important. He tries his best to ensure that Erebor stays secured. If this negotiation goes good we will be able to hunt in the margins of the woods and you know that´s going to be a big improvement.”

“I don´t see how that improves the family relationships,” Thorin commented stubbornly.

“Thorin...” Frerin sighed wearily. He really didn´t want to argue about their father right now.

“When you´ll be the king, it will be up to me to travel around the kingdoms all the time,” he said silently.

Thorin´s attention was now wholly focused on his brother. He pointed his finger at him. “No! And that is not the same!” he growled angrily. Frerin just sceptically returned his look.

 

Thorin´s temper chilled a bit but he was still huffing on his bed silently.

_You big stubborn mule._ Frerin chuckled mentally.

 

Frerin crawled to the bed, propped his chin on the edge of the mattress and pouted like a little pup.

Thorin tried his best to ignore Frerin´s face. He really did. Only it was impossible to stay angry when your baby brother eyes you with doggie eyes and pouty lips.

Thorin chuckled. “Climb in, you baby!” The last bits of tension dissolved immediately. Frerin immediately tore his robes off, leaving only tunic and pants on and jumped happily on the bed beside Thorin.

 

He laid his head next to his brother´s and reached for the ornate silvery clasp that held the bundle of hair tied up on the back of his head. Removing it and placing it on the night table, he shook his head and let his hair fall down around his face. Thorin laughed amusedly, reaching for his brother´s scalp and ruffling his raven locks.

“You look weird with your hair down,” the older prince commented with a smile.

“You look weird, you oaf!” Frerin whined as he tried to tame his dishevelled tresses.

“Shavetail!” Thorin returned.

“That´s rich coming from you!” Frerin mocked, pinching Thorin´s both cheeks. The latter slapped his hands away and struck his tongue out.

“I´m still better off than you, baby-face.”

“Not really,” Frerin remarked indignantly.

 

Thorin laughed and adjusted himself on the bed so that his head lay on the pillow, his anger completely forgotten.

 

The unpleasant feeling that nibbled at Frerin´s mind disappeared. He grinned at his brother and fell on his side facing him.

“I miss how we used to sleep together when we were kids,” the younger prince muttered.

“You big baby,” Thorin responded his voice laced with amusement.

“Shut up! I know you miss it too!” Frerin cried silently, slapping his brother´s hand.

 

The silence, disturbed only by the cracking of fire, filled the room. However, it was not an uncomfortable silence. The brothers gazed in each other´s eyes unmoving.

 

“I do,” Thorin answered meekly. A fond smile formed on Frerin´s lips and he blinked sleepily at his brother. Thorin, seeing that the big sleepy puppy opposite him won´t be staying awake much longer, he run his fingers along the long scar above Frerin´s left eye. He then placed his hand on his brother´s neck and edged closer.

 

Frerin felt Thorin´s forehead touch his own and the heat radiating from his brother made him forget the blankets instantly.

“Good night,” Thorin´s whisper ticked his face.

“You always do this,” Frerin whispered.

“Do what?”

“The thing with the hand on my neck.”

“I don´t know what you´re talking about,” Thorin said silently, trying to hide his smile. He knew exactly what his little brother meant.

 

When they were children, Frerin had often problems with falling asleep, and that is when Thorin discovered that when he put his palm against Frerin´s neck he would calm down immediately and fall asleep in matter of seconds.

“Night, brother,” the other whispered back and placed his own palm against his brother´s neck.

 

Thorin felt Frerin´s body relax into sleep almost immediately after his brother´s hand touched his neck. The sleep, however, didn´t overcome Thorin that easily.

 

The usually calm surface of his mind was now ruffled with memories, which refused to go back into the blackest depths where they belonged.

He fought them for a good while, but in the end he submitted and when the sleep came, he was swept back in time, dreaming about the little lady thief that left the Lonely Mountain with his heart.

 

 

* * *

 

As Dwalin got nearer to Dís´ door he heard a high-pitched scream followed by a dull thump and shattering glass. His pulse noticeably quickened along with his pace. He took out a small dagger from his belt and kicked the door.

“Are you al—” he couldn’t finish for a fucking _flower vase_ hit his face the second the door swung open.

“Dwalin!” Dís shouted, completely freaked out and caught off guard. “Mahal, are you alright?” She ran toward the guard, fussing over his bleeding nose.

“I´m fine, I´m fine!” he choked, trying to stop the bleeding while he sheathed the dagger. Dís dragged him by his shirt inside and slammed the door close.

“It is rude to burst into a ladies room without knocking, you know?” she scolded, as she pressed her white handkerchief to his dirty nose.

“I´m sorry, I just... I heard the scream and I panicked...” he explained shuffling his feet nervously, shunning Dís´ eyes.

 

The lady just laughed heartily and shook her head. “That was just me being extremely frustrated,” she clarified.

“Oh yeah, about that,” Dwalin started uneasily, looking around noticing the mess all around. Vase shards lying in a pool of water, pillows scattered all around, papers on the floor...

 

The guardsman arched an eyebrow at the princess who just crossed her hands on her chest, looking back at Dwalin, challenging him to comment on the mess.

“What happened, milady? I met Thorin in the hall and he wasn’t very cheerful either.”

“Oh, drop the ´milady´ part, it makes me uncomfortable,” Dís noted as she walked towards the bed and sat on it tiredly, raking her fingers through her hair, sighing in defeat before she continued.

“It´s our grandfather,” she answered finally.

 

Dwalin hesitated for a second, sniffing back the last drops of blood that threatened to drip out, looking around nervously. He watched Dís as she bowed her head and covered her face with her palms, groaning angrily. With few long strides Dwalin was kneeling by her side, his hand gently gripping her shoulder.

“Dís,” he addressed her softly, “tell me.”

 

She looked at him unhappily, straightening her back.

“He wants Thorin to marry Taelynn.”

Dwalin´s face twisted like he just chewed on an exceptionally sour lemon.

“Taelynn?” he asked, making sure he heard right. A despairing mewl escaped Dís´ throat and she nodded frantically.

“Yes, Taelynn. That greedy, double-faced, good-for-nothing whore who cares about herself and nobody else!”

Dwalin flinched slightly rubbing his ear, when Dís finished her angry shouting. He took her right hand and caressed it slowly, attempting to calm her temper. Her chest was heaving rapidly and her whole body shook with fury.

“Mahal, how I hate that slut!” she cursed, grabbing another pillow and throwing it across the room.

 

Dwalin just silently kneeled by her, unsure of what to do. He knew why Dís hated Lady Taelynn so much. They´ve known each other since childhood but there was never friendship between them. The lady of Iron Hills would come with the other dwarrowdams to spend the winter in Erebor from time to time and that was a season of wars. It always started with comparing dresses and jewels, beads and braids, hair and beard length and it escalated into shouting, shoving and in most cases even a hand-to-hand lady fight.

 

There was also the fact that Taelynn always clung to Thorin like a parasite, always twirling around him, asking him pointless questions, pointing out her new dress or a piece of jewellery. Thorin tolerated her because it was what everyone expected of him. He would clench his teeth, shoot Dwalin a pleading look and go on with indulging the lady. The _ladies._ Taelynn wasn’t the only one trying to usurp Thorin to herself. Although she was the most persistent. And the most annoying.

 

Dwalin even recalled an incident she had with Frerin – after all, he was a royal son too. He remembered something involving her kissing a very unwilling Frerin, as well as he very vividly recalled the wounds he received from restraining Dís from killing Taelynn on the spot.

Since then, Frerin always mysteriously vanished from the face of Middle-earth every time she appeared somewhere near.

 

And so Dwalin spent almost the whole night holding Dís´ hand, pouring her more and more wine, listening patiently to everything she had to say, solemnly agreeing with every insult on the lady of Iron Hills. Truth be told, he didn’t mind at all.

 

He didn´t even know how he fell asleep. He woke up when the first rays of sun reached his face, finding himself half sitting half lying on Dís´ bed, his neck twisted in a very painful angle. He looked around in confusion at first but when his eyes fell on the still sleeping lady beside him he panicked. Getting up from the bed carefully he reached for the blanket and covered the princesses sleeping form.

 

“Fuck!” he swore very silently, biting his knuckles with frustration, and in attempt to stiffen the scream that came out as an almost audible high-pitched squeal. He frantically looked around, as if Thorin would jump from behind the cabinet with a knife in his hand.

 

The last thing he remembered was how he sat on the bed and watched Dís, angrily writing a letter to the king. Then some drinking... a lot of drinking actually. And that was it.

 

He slowly and cautiously made his way towards the door, expertly avoiding the glass shards scattered on the floor. Clutching the door handle carefully he opened the heavy door. The gap was almost big enough for him to slip out when the door creaked loudly.

_Oh, you fucking piece of shit, don’t you dare to creak you fuck!_ Dwalin cursed, shooting a worrying look in Dís´ direction to make sure she´s still asleep. He mentally thanked Mahal for his luck and slipped out of the chamber.

 

He let out a shaky breath he was holding the whole time and turned happily around. Only to be greeted by a shocked open-mouthed face of his brother.

 

They stood there frozen for a good moment – Balin holding a cup of tea and Dwalin sweating like a sinner in church. Balin´s eyes flickered from Dwalin´s face to Dís´ chamber door, and Dwalin could easily read the disbelief, wonderment and doubt in them.

 

“You...” Balin started insecurely but was immediately cut off by Dwalin.

“No!” he said trying to sound calm, although he was sure his heart would burst from panic any second.

“Are you sure?” Balin asked slowly, his voice unusually high-pitched.

“Yes.” Dwalin said defiantly.

“You know Thorin´s gonna skin you alive and make a rug from your beard if he hears about this?”

“Yes,” _Thank you for fucking reminding me._ Dwalin thought sarcastically.

“You know I can blackmail you now,” Balin said as if he was not sure if Dwalin was aware that he just walked out of Lady Dís´ chamber.

“Shut up,” Dwalin moaned and marched away, straight towards his own chamber – thinking about a good glacial bath.

Balin stood on the spot unmoving, squinting after his brother. He looked at the lady´s door and hummed. Taking a cautious sip from his hot tea, he made his way towards the king´s personal library.

“I´m still not drunk enough for this,” he murmured as he sipped his tea, furrowing his brows at the beverage and as he passed the first pot with bracken he emptied his cup on the poor plant.

Entering the library he made a bee-line towards the liquor cabinet, he took out the strongest poison he found there and took a mighty swing of it.

His face twisted as he swallowed, the alcohol burning his throat. He eyed the bottle critically.

“Yeah, that´ll do it.”

 


	3. Nothing´s wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party, party!! First day of celebrations of Durin´s day, unpleasant guests and Nori´s worries.

Almost everything was ready for the feast. It took place in the south-eastern part of the mountain – on the smooth circular surface made of dark basalt. An immense stony ring, supported by black marble pillars was ornamented with silver wines and bunches of white and yellow crystal lilies – a sign of sun and moon, and dark blue diamond chrysanthemums – flowers that grew on Durin´s grave.

Everybody called it ´the king´s terrace´.

The moon was high on the sky and Erebor bathed in its silver light. The mountain buzzed with life. All the people were busy preparing foods and drinks for the night. Lords and ladies gathered inside were marvelling at each other, praising and bad-mouthing each other´s robes and hairdos.

Everybody was waiting for the start of Durin´s day. Although the autumn was about to end the air was still warm enough to hold the feast outside. The official start of the celebration would be on the brisk of new day – and continue for three following days.

Everybody was shining with happiness and excitement – well everybody, except the king and his three grandchildren. The lords and ladies coming to the majestic dwarven city had to pay homage to the king, and present their gifts to him. The dwarven Lords and Ladies were coming to the city from the morning and it looked like they were going to keep coming till the start of the celebration. King Thrór, trained by his many days of ruling, was sitting on his throne, his head illuminated by the beautiful light of the Arkenstone, expertly hiding his tiredness behind the stony facade.

Thorin, being the loyal crown prince he was, was also trying his best to hide his rising temper, as well as tiredness, sitting on his grandfather´s right side, nodding loftily to everyone who came by to present themselves.

Frerin and Dís, however, were not even trying. They sat on the left side of Thrór´s throne, sporting the same fed up expressions, supporting their chins with their left hands. They even sighed in the exact same time. Frerin gave up staring into distance and regarded Thorin with scepticism, trying to catch his attention. That, however, was like trying to make Dwalin wear a dress – impossible.

He glanced back at the couple of dwarves bowing to them and opening the small chest of fabrics they brought as a present. Frerin tilted his head towards Dís, who immediately copied the movement and they stared at each other tiredly. Frerin gestured with his hand towards the fabrics, asking his sister only with a look what she thinks. His sister only shook her head rolling her eyes. They had enough fabrics, gold, jewels, toys, spices, teas and who-knows-what-else and she really wasn´t in the mood of going through the numerous chests brought by the guests.

As they silently conversed, rolling their eyes, fidgeting impatiently and sighing loudly, Thorin noticed them. He cleared his throat irritably, earning himself two owlish looks from his younger siblings. It was unfair how he had to play the responsible one, paying attention, politely greeting everyone and thanking them for their gifts and all that boring crap whist they casually ruined his attempts by their non-too-silent sighing. He could even hear them rolling their eyes! He inaudibly growled at them, his teeth flashing in contrast with his thick dark stubble. Frerin´s automatic response was a grimace, his eyes crossed and tongue stuck out.

Seeing it, Thorin´s face coloured red – a clear sign that his temper was rising rapidly. He was trying, really, really trying to pay attention to the conversation happening right in front of him but Frerin.... that little shit.

The little war of signs and grimaces from Frerin´s side and silent growls and warnings from Thorin´s.

Their antics were put to an end by Thrór´s warning cough when the bickering escalated and even the guests started shuffling nervously and the guards started snickering at the duo – the upper half of their faces hidden by a heavy, scary looking helmet, but the twitching of their mouths was not hidden at all.  The grave silence that followed was only disturbed by the king´s heavy sigh.

It´s not like Thrór was really angry – his grandchildren loosened up the tense atmosphere in the throne room – but it was his responsibility to scold them. He was already dying from boredom and if he could, he would cancel this whole “introductions and honouring” stupidity this instant. Too bad he wasn’t as young as the three little mischiefs on his sides.

Thankfully, Ballin silently signed from the spot next to the lords that the long list of guests was about to come to an end – which also meant the start of the celebration – which equalled free time for his grandchildren and absolutely no rest for him. Fuck the rules, he´s going to get drunk the moment the official part of Durin´s day is behind him.

He furtively eyed Thorin, then sneaked a glance at Frerin, seeing that the two were still engaged in the bickering, although they were somewhat stealthier about it. And Dís was having notable difficulties in containing her laughter.

Thrór decided that he would forgive himself for neglecting his duties of paying full attention to the last incoming guests (after all, he´s a king, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted – he thought, somewhat dubiously)and would entertain himself by watching as Thorin angrily fidgeted in his seat, like it was covered by bees. Judging by the clenched jaw and a pulsating vain on Thorin´s forehead, the lad would jump Frerin the second all the guests cleared the hall.

And Frerin, the little rascal he was, snickered deviously and silently dared Thorin to do it. Dís regarded her brothers with amusement, trying to stifle her giggles.

Thrór laughed mentally, his face a perfect image of a stony statue. He would actually very much like to see if Frerin was fast enough to escape Thorin´s rage. He was not disappointed, for when the last lords exited the throne room to join the rest of the guests outside the mountain, Thorin jumped from the seat, attacking his brother; who (sensing that Thorin was going to do something like this) bolted from his own seat, running towards the exit laughing his ass off.

Balin almost didn´t manage to deflect as the two swooshed past him.

Dís was already suffering enough from stifling her laughs so she also burst out laughing heartily, clutching his aching belly and wiping the tears from her eyes.

Thrór roared with laughter, his long grey beard shaking merrily, propping his chin with his closed fist, his elbow resting on the armrest. He shook his head amusedly, watching his younger grandson run for his life.

The big hall echoed with muffled chuckles of the guards standing in pairs by each pillar. They were as bored as the royal family members, if not more. The upper halves of their heads were hidden by scary black helmets, but their grins were flashing in the dim light of the room.

They heard a very unmanly high-pitched screech from the outer hall, which indicated that Frerin hadn´t run too far and was caught by his furious brother.

Everybody in the hall was now laughing openly, well almost everybody. Balin stood on the spot, shuffling his feet awkwardly. In his hand, he still held the long paper with the names of the nobilities attending the feast. And there was a slight problem. There was one name that was not yet announced. He really didn´t want to disturb the lovely atmosphere.

He was about to notify the king about that matter, his finger raised in the air. He drew a nervous breath and was about to address the king, when he noticed that Frerin´s screech abruptly died away.

Balin shot a very anxious glance at the entrance. The whole hall noticed the sudden grave silence too. The guards exchanged questioning looks leaning over to see what is happening outside.

“Did they kill each other?” Thrór asked uneasily, wondering about what happened. Dís only shrugged unknowingly.

* * *

 

Frerin had some difficulties running away from his furious brother because of the maniac laughter. His whole body ached from it and it distinctly slowed him down. He heard the whole throne room booming with laughter and that made him laugh even harder. He only managed to exit the room and duck right, making it only to the first pillar when Thorin caught up on him and hauled him to the hard floor.

 

Thorin started pinching him and tickling every spot he could reach and Frerin couldn’t do anything but screech and squirm. His brother was very unforgiving and Frerin started to gasp for air, his eyes tearing up and face all red.

“Stop it, Thorin! I´m gonna die!” He cried out, laughing.

“Don´t worry I won´t let you die! You don’t deserve such quick death you little—“

 

He couldn’t finish his sentence, being interrupted by someone´s impatient and almost irritated cough.

Both brothers froze on the spot, looking up to the dwarf.

 

There was no deity that could have prepared them for the sight.

 

Nut-brown hair tied into a tight knot, tree ridiculously long braids hanging from its side, each adorned with tiny ruby clasps, whiskers carefully combed into her hair, beard braided into a difficult pattern, secured with an emerald bead, her hourglass shaped figure clad in long dress of a hideous shade of green, also ornamented with rubies.

 

Taelynn. Right in front of them. Smiling at them with sickening sweetness.

 

Thorin´s face twisted as if he had just licked a frog and Frerin paled in horror.

Scrambling to their feet and dusting themselves off, they stood with their backs straight. Thorin quickly switched to the long trained politeness and greeted her.

“Lady Taelynn, what a pleasant surprise.” He took her hand, bowed reverently and pretended to kiss her knuckles. “Welcome to the Lonely Mountain.”

 Frerin let out a desperate whine.

“Thank you prince Thorin! It is a pleasure to be here.” She then turned to Frerin who fidgeted on the spot, brokenly trying to hold a polite smile on his face. Although, it looked more like he was being gutted.

“Welcome.” He choked out finally.

 

Thorin felt genuinely bad for his poor brother. This nymphomaniac woman had assaulted his poor unknowing brother in the halls one day and he had been very cautious around women (especially Taelynn) ever since.

 

Frerin really looked like he was about to cry.

 

Thank Mahal and Eru and all the Valar that watched over them, for the distraction in the form of Balin, Dís and a very concerned Thrór (who faintly believed his two grandsons had killed each other accidentally).

 

Upon noticing the new guest, Dís´ happiness vanished without a trace and was substituted by a death glare which Tealynn returned with a sweet – but very fake – smile. Thrór, still completely oblivious to the fact that his granddaughter turned very homicidal in a single second, smiled broadly and greeted Taelynn, planting a chaste kiss on her cheeks. She bowed reverently and greeted back.  

 

Thorin noticed that Dís´ eye started twitching. He also noticed that Frerin vanished from his side to Mahal knows where.

 

Thorin sighed heavily. This is going to be a nightmare.

 

* * *

 

Everybody held their drinks, waiting for the sun to join the moon on the sky.      

The nobles were in the giant elevated circular space and the rest of the population in the outer streets of the mountain.

 

Thorin managed to pry Taelynn off and shoo her to sit down with the other guests. As soon as she left, blending with the crowd, Frerin magically materialised out of thin air next to him. All guests were already seated by the numerous giant tables filled with all kinds of traditional dwarven foods.

 

As soon as the orb rose high enough to fully illuminate the world and meet the moon, Thrór lifted up his golden wine-filled goblet and nodded seriously, everybody quieted down. All eyes were on the king.

 

Thrór was unbelievingly brief during the official commencement. It left Balin rolling his eyes at the king and the three royal siblings exchanged amused looks. Thorin mentally summarized the speech into “Welcome, today´s the Durin´s day, I´m hungry so let´s eat and drink!”

 

The short welcoming speech was, however, highly appreciated, since the crowd burst into deafening cheer. The music started playing and everybody drained their wine and sat down, digging into the food.

 

Thrór was seated in the middle of the big oaken table, happy that he finally had his food and with his long desired pint of ale. Thorin, Frerin feverishly discussing how to avoid Taelyn and Dís, glaring daggers into her general direction were on his right. Balin, in his traditional wine-coloured coat enriched by rubies and dark cloak on his left. By his side was Dwalin, who was looking exceptionally dashing today. His chest was covered by a silvery plate, ornate with dark blue vines and blue gemstones. The midnight blue cloak was secured on his left shoulder by a silver clasp. Other chairs were occupied by Gloin and his lovely wife and Oin and few royal councillors.

 

As soon as everybody finished the main course, the tables were cleaned of leftovers – not that there were any proper leftovers, and cakes, pastry, fruits and sweets were brought. The first part of the feast took about three hours.

 

The next highlight of the day was the Guard march. The chosen officers and their regiment marched from the south-eastern entrance of Erebor through the streets, singing hymns and showed off their armours and weapons. The top elite stayed in the king´s terrace doing the same. That took about an hour and half.

 

The traditional dwarven sparing show off followed shortly after. Officers of each regiment presented a typical dwarven war dance, accompanied by a handful of their best soldiers. They all moved like one person, their blue cloaks swishing around them.

 

Everyone loudly applauded as the warriors finished the war dance with a loud cry.

 

The evening was however something entirely different.

 

When the sun left the sky and the torches were lit, the real party started. The musicians played the most favourite songs, everybody clapped and the dance floor was soon filled with dozens of dwarves.

 

Thorin and Frerin were swaying in the rhythm, drinking ale and talking about the food. Dwalin joined them, dragging his chair over. Dís was talking to Balin, bad-mouthing and gossiping as they carefully scanned the dance floor. There will be so much blackmailing material after the celebration. Some drunken lords were already making perfect fools of themselves.

 

Thorin and Dwalin were eyeing the dancing crowd in assessing manner, thinking whether to join or not. When Frerin drained his full pint of ale in one go, he grabbed Thorin´s arm and dragged him down to the dancing crowd, Dwalin following closely after.

 

As soon as Dís spotted the three lads she instantly nudged Balin and they both turned their attention wholly on them.

 

The moment they stepped to the dance floor, all three were surrounded by young ladies and lords, eager to dance. They were dragged apart by their wooers.

Thorin, encircled by at least fifteen young dwarrowdams, decently danced around in rhythm, spinning the ladies in process. Dwalin, similarly as Thorin, managed to keep his dignity by dancing according to the rhythm, but unlike Thorin, he was surrounded by mainly by young lads.

 

Frerin, however, was a complete different story. He was dancing happily but completely off tune, surrounded by a circle of youngsters who merrily laughed at the princes dancing creations. Dís was laughing loudly from the table while Balin clapped to the song. The princess took pity on her clumsy second brother and joined him on the dance floor.

 

They held hands and danced and their little audience cheered louder. Thorin somehow danced his way from the ladies and joined his two siblings. Frerin resigned from the dancing as the pace quickened, excusing his leave by saying that the songs have gotten too quick and he could no longer keep up.

 

He joined Thrór and Balin at the table and ordered another two pints – as soon as they arrived, he immediately drained one.

 

He watched as Dís nailed all the dancing, being the centre of attention of everyone. She was so graceful and so pretty when she danced. Frerin was so proud and he knew that Thorin was swelling with pride too, as he swirled her around. Frerin couldn’t tear his eyes off them.

 

He noticed Dwalin shuffling towards him and he excused himself from the table and they walked to another table, filed with cold meat and fruits. Dwalin enthusiastically filled his plate with food and as soon as both their plates were full they sat back at the main table.

 

They ate in silence but Frerin couldn’t help himself but to poke at his friend´s patience.

“Soooo... How did you enjoy the dancing?” Frerin asked innocently.

“It was fun.” Dwalin replayed matter-of-factly. “I didn´t know there were so many people who wanted to dance with me. It was a rather nice surprise.”

Frerin hummed. When Dwalin made no attempt to continue he probed his luck.

“Dís is a lovely dancer.” He stated nonchalantly, sneaking glances at the warrior. Dwalin froze, his eyes flying to the princess. Frerin grinned.

“She is...” Dwain said carefully, his eyes still fixed on her.

“Uh-huhh, and her dress is very beautiful.” Frerin continued, slanting at his friend.

 

* * *

 

Dwalin squirmed in his seat.

“Yes, it is.” He said dreamily.

“You should ask her for a dance.” Frerin suggested devilishly.Dwalin choked on the piece of meat he was savouring and looked at the prince in horror. “I think she would love to dance with you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dwain blurted out in disbelief. Frerin arched a brow at him.

“Thorin is down there, and he is armed. I am not going to ask her to share a dance anywhere near him.”

“Oh, come on! I can distract him.” Frerin said encouragingly.

“No!” Dwalin stressed, wiggling his finger in warning.

“Oh you spoilsport! You are acting so obviously around her that it makes my eyes bleed.”

Frerin jerked his head towards his dancing sister.

“Go to her.” He said but there was not a trace of mockery in his voice. Crossing his hands on his chest he looked at Dwalin thoroughly.

“Go ask her for the next dance. Tell her how you feel about her.”

“No, Frerin. You know I can´t. You know I´m gonna make myself look like a retard. Besides, I know my place.” He said definitely. “She deserves better.” He murmured silently into his almost empty pint.

“You´re kidding right?” The prince stared him in disbelief. “What place? Who – better... what?!” He stuttered. “You are not a fucking farm boy, man! You are an honest dwarf, you are loyal and trustable. You like her and she likes you... I really don´t see where´s the problem.” Frerin summarized.

He drew a long and exasperated breath and added, almost whispering, “And you are an excellent kisser.”

 

Dwalin spat the ale at the comment. Frerin was looking everywhere but at Dwalin, blushing slightly.

“I don’t feel secure when you talk about that matter with Thorin still within my eyesight.”

A chuckle echoed from Frerin.

“You are an idiot.” The prince rolled his eyes at Dwalin, who only shrugged. “Tell her, or I´m going to do it. And I´m going to have Thorin as a witness.” He warned.

Dwalin´s face twisted with utter horror, but he was not scared easily.

“You do that, and I´m gonna get the lovely lady Taelynn and I´m gonna lock you two up in a room without windows.” Now it was Frerin´s turn to be scared. He trembled violently at the thought and scanned the area wide-eyed, as if he expected Taelynn to jump him any second.

 

His eyes then stopped at something. He managed to keep the frowning at bay and quickly turned his attention back at Dwalin.

 

“Two can play that game.” Dwalin retorted amusedly, watching Frerin´s nervous squirming.

 

“You are a mean person,” he cried unhappily, “but I am willing to endure such torture in your favour. Either you tell Dís by the end of the celebrations, or I will.” He said, challenging Dwalin to oppose.  When the latter drew a breath to voice his protest, Frerin stood up and raised his hand, silencing him.

“Nuh-uh.” He wiggled his finger at him. “I gave you two options. Your choice.”

 

Dwalin didn´t even try to stop his prince from retreating, busy being all fed up with his blackmailing.

“Little manipulative shit.” He murmured into his cup.

 

* * *

 

Frerin stealthily blended with the shadows, stealing a small lantern from one of the pillars and made his was out of the crowded place. He strode away, sneaking glances behind, making sure nobody followed. He ducked into a small crevice that led down to an underground lake. The only source of light was his small lantern.

 

_There you are._ He thought as his pace slowed down. After five minutes of walking he finally spotted the person he was stalking and he made himself comfortable leaning against a huge rocky wall.

 

“Shouldn´t you be enjoying yourself at the party?” Frerin asked nonchalantly.

Nori turned around mutely and stepped closer to the prince, coming into the circle of light.

“What´s wrong?” Frerin asked, his voice serious. It was not usual for Nori to look like he just attended an execution.

“Nothing.” He answered shortly, still looking very disturbed.

“Oh, c´mon,” Frerin rolled his eyes and sighed, “something´s obvious—“

“No, you don´t understand. It is literally _nothing_.” He interrupted the younger prince impatiently.

Freirn frowned harder. “I don´t think I follow.”

“There is nothing wrong. There are no whispers, no rumours, no plotting, nothing. Everything is dead still and silent.” Nori informed him in hushed voice.

“Which is great, because we—“ Frerin started calmly but was yet again interrupted.

“You are joking, right?” Nori growled irritably, looking like he seriously doubting Frerin´s intelligence. “There is absolutely nothing great about it and you fucking know it.” Nori burst out, pacing to and fro like a rabid wolf.

 

 Frerin gave him a stern authoritative look. Nori stopped dead in his tracks, realizing that maybe he crossed the line a bit. Frerin stood straight, his sky-blue eyes fixed on the spy. Nori bowed his head slightly in reverence and apology. The air about his prince changed dangerously from cheerful to grave and Nori knew that despite Frerin´s easygoing attitude he could be quite frightening. He´s a Durin after all.

 

“I am worried.” Nori stated insecurely.

“I gather that.” Frerin uttered, sighing audibly. “You think there´s going to be an attack?”

The spymaster let out a shaky breath. “I´m not sure. But I don´t like this silence at all. It´s like a friggin calm before a storm.”

Frerin nodded stiffly looking around the small cave.

“All I´m trying to say is, that you should keep your eyes open and your dagger at hand.” Nori huffed helplessly.

“I´ll keep that in mind.” Frerin spoke, turning around and heading back to the king´s terrace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Want more? Leave a message with your opinion, everything is welcome, critique as well, but only as long as you don´t bitch about every fucking not-really-important detail that I messed up. Cheers. 
> 
> (Can somebody tell me how do I make the title of the story appear under the effin notes?!)


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